


Hurt

by rereis_senpai



Series: Hurt and Comfort [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Can be read platonically or romantically - Freeform, Chiaki is an AI in this, Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Much Comfort, Ouma not Oma dammit, Post-Game, Yum, saiouma ftw, virtual reality au, vr au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:05:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rereis_senpai/pseuds/rereis_senpai
Summary: As he runs towards hope, his heart soars, free of despair as his greatest wish has been answered.Alternatively, the comfort aspect of my Hurt/Comfort series.





	1. A Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here is the comforting alternative y'all weaklings were crying about.

Kokichi drifts in and out of consciousness, opening his eyes to the empty dream-scape he found himself in after he woke up after death. He dreams of good times; his time in the outside world with DICE, his time inside the game spent humorously tormenting the others, and daydreams of times where he was a normal student, in a normal high school, with normal friends.

Comfort was an alien concept to him. It was mostly self-induced, used in order to calm him down or to provide a drive behind his manic smiles. Even through the lies he called comfort, he found hope in them, and wondered how hypocritical he was. He had sought out hope and received despair, and had destroyed everyone else’s hope in order to assume his position as the villain and reign with despair, hurting others and inadvertently killing them.

Hurt- that was all he could do. He spent his time in the game hurting others emotionally by manipulating them in horrid ways. When he looks back at his actions, he can’t help but wince at the severity of each action he inflicted on everyone. As much as he wanted to label it as a necessary evil, most of the comments he threw around were useless and above all- hurtful.

He is a monster, capable of only the destruction of everyone’s hopes and dreams.

He accepts this fact with ease, and finds his time in solidarity to be a comforting thought. If he was locked up away from everyone else, they’ll actually have a chance to bloom and prosper like the ultimates they were born to be. And so he welcomes this silence, basking in the moment of peace where he can truly be the Kokichi he really wanted to be.

Except, when he peers into the dry cracks of his hands, he can’t help but spread his smile wickedly across his cheeks, splitting them in half like he does with everything. He forces himself to express emotions genuinely, but whatever expression he makes, it is laced with malice and mock.

He is horrified as he realises his lacking control over his facial expression, and he falls just a little deeper into the despairing pit he dug for himself. He stretches his arms wide, mimicking the welcoming embrace of the mother of his dreams and finds his hands curled sinisterly out, as though he was maniacally spilling his master plan like villains do.

He retracted his hands back to his chest and crumpled in on himself, soft sobs silently racking his small figure. Despite his small stature, he was always able to project such a powerful presence that it always had heads turning no matter the situation.

He hated it.

He hated being the Ultimate Supreme Leader and the perks it comes with.

He hates how every pose he makes naturally reflects that of power.

He _hates it._

So, he tries to make himself smaller, faltering as his chest puffed out in confidence to assume control, and hesitating as his arms spread wide to usher crowds to his favour. Eventually he manages to force out the leader in him, though he occasionally hesitates awkwardly in his actions.

He progresses, and he’s glad for it.

He tries once again at genuine emotions, and finds that it’s harder to smile.

~~Good, because there’s nothing to smile at other than despair.~~

He knows he’s going crazy, or well, he _thinks_ he is. He thinks back to his act of insanity and tries to compare it to his current state, but can’t determine the similarities between them. He doesn’t feel crazed- rather he feels nothing at all.

He feels… peace. He doesn’t feel angry, he’s grown past his disappointment, and he’s come to terms with his grief. And so he spends another couple of however long time goes on for mulling over his emotions. He doesn’t feel sad, nor does he feel happy.

He’s just… empty.

~~Somewhere in there, a flower blooms. Through the darkness of despair, it thrives.~~

~~The flower is called _Hope._~~

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here for, but he certainly feels like a corpse.

There’s nothing to do. He’d already spent the last lifetime pondering over his wrongdoings and making corrections of them. He’d spent the last eternity shoving the villain in him, along with any traces of what the assassin had called "_Remnant of Despair._"

_Ah,_ the assassin. Maki Harukawa. A fellow orphan who took care of him for a few months before being transferred out to being her training. Perhaps if fate was merciful enough to grant him something, he should apologise to her.

~~He should apologise to everyone, but that’s already an obvious thought.~~

He spends the next lifespan thinking of each of his fellow ultimates, and reminisces the times he shared with them within the Killing Game. As he ponders over each 15 participants, regret floods his heart and anxiety slowly crawls its way to his throat, making him choke mid-thought.

_Is this how I’m going to spend the rest of whatever this is?_ He can’t help his heart sink in the familiar feeling of despair.

Without a second thought, he stands up and walks somewhere- anywhere. He wants to find a way out- he _has_ to. There’s no point in wallowing in self-pity if he hasn’t tried to do anything to save himself.

And so he roams around with no intended direction, hope fuelling his dream-ridden quest. He yearns the presence of another- maybe it was a trait of his former talent as a leader, or maybe it was the extended solitude he was forced in. So, with a desperate scream, he finds some energy in him and runs with his newfound burst of power.

He runs, and runs, but he doesn’t know where he’s going. But it’s okay, because as long as hope fuels him, he won’t ever sink into the depths of despair.

He’s high on hope, but it’s okay, he will nurture it and let it bloom into a beautiful flower. And he knows he will care for it, because he’s no longer Ouma Kokichi, the Ultimate Supreme Leader who hurt others for the sake of saving them.

He’s Ouma Kokichi, a lost boy who hopes to repent for the sake of saving _himself._


	2. The Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ultimate Detective and his introspection of the events rolled out in front of him.

Shuichi waits because he is patient. He is patient because he was taught throughout his childhood to be so. He has to wait patiently for his parents come home. He has to wait patiently for his parents to answer his call. He has to wait patiently for his uncle to pick him up. He has to wait for his turn in the audition-

 _Wait, no._ That’s wrong.

Saihara Shuichi the Ultimate Detective never had to go through an audition. No, that was merely the _previous_ Saihara’s memories, Saihara Shuichi, the Ultimate _Fanboy._

He forces the memory away, because that Saihara was in the past. He’s now _Shuichi,_ a survivor of the 53rd Killing Game whose parents _are overseas_ because of business, _not because they kicked him out._

He sighs as he walks around the hospital with a stride and purpose. He knows the hospital like the back of his hand now, after all his visits to this after the traumatising game he was stuck inside in. He roams through the halls and finds the door he had become quite accommodated with.

He opens the door and is greeted with a familiar sight, and sighs in both relief and grief. He walks in and softly shuts the door behind him, taking a seat in the chair prepared solely for his company.

In front of him is a cot surrounded by various machines that hum in the background, busying the peaceful silence with whirs and beeps. He peers into the cot and is once again flabbergasted by the occupant of said cot. Plugged with several wires that monitor his well-being, Ouma’s thin frame remains ever so small in the oversized cot that seems to engulf him in a sea of comfort.

A soft smile graces Shuichi’s lips as he combs stray hairs from the small boy’s face, satisfied with how his dark hair frames his face with its contrast. The open window allows light to pour into the room, blessing the frail boy with a halo of his own, painting him in a celestial light, depicting him to be a fallen angel rather than the lying devil he really was.

His smile falters as he touches the boy’s cheek, his own pale skin contrasting greatly to the boy’s ghostly complexion. He shakes slightly as he realises the Ouma seems to have gotten colder than he previously remembered.

He shakes his head and sits back down, pulling out his books and working on a few questions before moving onto the book he had been reading, finishing a few chapters before realising that the sun had set and he should probably make his way back home.

He packs up his stuff and goes to leave, sparing the boy one last glance before nodding to the nurse on his way out of the hospital.

He makes his way back home and prays to whatever deity is out there, hoping with all his heart that the boy in white will wake up.

-=<0>=-

The others say its a lost cause, but he wasn’t known because of how much of a pushover he was. So, he stubbornly visits the liar on his own free will, passively passing on excuses of "friendship" and how he should be there for the liar.

As much as he tries to mask his visits as spite, he knows that deep inside he genuinely cares for the boy.

Maybe it’s the fact that his own act as the mastermind had helped them slip the true mastermind up, or maybe it was his vain attempt at saving the survivors that had caught his admiration. It was truly heroic to hear how Ouma had been so willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of ending the game.

His admiration doesn’t stop there. No, it trails back before the game. Apparently he and Ouma had known each other in their past lives, and it’s only then that he wishes to indulge himself in his past memories, but he knows he should leave it be. Yet, he can’t help but wonder how Ouma had acted genuinely.

So he prays, and continues to hope, because it is hope that lets him continue visiting Ouma.

He enters the room and smiles at the comforting constant that was Ouma’s presence. He sits himself down on his assigned seat and leans forward contemplatively.

He had originally visited the boy out of pity, seeing as no one else was willing to visit him. (Gonta would, but he had feared Kokichi would do something reckless)

He continued visiting because Kaede and Kaito had insisted that he be there for Ouma, with how close they were in the game and how he was the most patient when it came to the liar.

He continues to visit because he is enamoured by how much of an enigma Ouma is, and finds himself caught in the boy’s web of lies, captivated by its complexity and how much it had affected everyone. His desire to untangle his lies from his truth has become an obsession, and the others are desperately trying to make him abstain from sinking in the problem that was Ouma.

But Shuichi didn’t care, because he was _so close._ If Ouma were to wake up now he is certain that he’ll be able to pick up and call out on all the lies the liar would spout.

But _he won’t._

So he prays more, praying for Ouma to wake up, and hoping and _hoping,_ because he won’t give himself up to despair.

He looks up to the window and finds the sun slipping behind the tall silhouettes of city buildings and sighs, sneaking one last glance at the boy before slipping out.

He visits the boy the next day. It’s been ingrained in his routine, so it’s second nature by now. He makes a few half-hearted turns and reaches the door again and sits himself down in front of the boy.

This time he’ll try to mimic Angie’s talent to the best of his ability, and settles himself comfortably in his chair. He sketches basic shapes first, and moves onto the larger details like the boy’s hair that tangled like vines. He continued sketching through the day, and found himself curled in painfully, his back caved into himself as he sketches quite vigorously.

In the end he is left with an aching back that is hunched, and a rough sketch of the beautiful boy.

He’ll visit again tomorrow and finish it off.

-=<0>=-

He ends up visiting earlier than usual, his phone disrupting his scheduled sleep.

As much as he’d like to berate the person on his troubles, he listens patiently because he is Saihara Shuichi, the Ultimate Detective. After all he _does_ have to deal with witnesses and testimonies.

He remains quiet as the caller rushes through her words, and he listens as her words go through one ear and out the other with how fast she’s going. He barely caught the name "_Kokichi_" that managed to slip its way into her ramble before he realised how _familiar_ the voice was.

And so, with a clearer head, he urges the caller to calm down and repeat her words slowly. With a few breaths, she manages to do so.

“O-Ouma Kokichi i-is awake!” He holds his breath, waiting for the lie to be called out, only to realise- _his prayers have been answered._

With a sudden burst of energy, he rinses his mouth and splashes his face before he flies past his door with a blast. By this point his body is the one that leads him. His feet are accustomed to the terrain and he finds himself in front of the hospital sooner than he realised.

He pants and leans on the office counter for support, inquiring the administrator of Kokichi’s conditions in between his breaths. The administrator provides him with adequate information and gives him a permit pass that’ll allow him to spend the night. He thanks the front desk worker gratefully and dashes off to Kokichi’s new room.

As he runs towards hope, his heart soars, free of despair as his greatest wish has been answered.


	3. His shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanami Chiaki's review on her ward, and debates whether he's a lost cause.

Chiaki Nanami waited for her ward to find her. Although she had been killed twice, her AI had been restored and she serves her purpose as a moderator of the despaired victims of the Annual Killing Games.

 

In the far abyss, her glowing figure can be seen from miles away, however she made sure to cloak her presence well, opting for a more inconspicuous appearance, shadowing her ward. With her hood up, her stitched-in cat ears poked out and fluffed around.

 

She tailed the infamous Ouma Kokichi, and watched as he broke down several times. If she hadn’t had to comfort characters like him from the past seasons, she would have immediately fallen prey into his pity. Her past experiences, however. have made her resilient to his breakdowns, and so she watched neutrally from afar.

 

She monitored him for a while, examining him intently as he morphed his face into one of his demonic expressions, before breaking down into a shaking lump that sagged into the abyss floor. She sighed silently- her ward was making pitiful progress.

 

She continued to monitor him for a while, watching as he slipped in and out of consciousness, passed out on the floor of nothing, before rolling to his side to cry some more.

 

_He’s a lost cause,_ she thinks as she takes note of how slow he progresses. At this point, it’ll take eternities to drain the despair out of him.

 

And so that’s what she does.

 

With the world in her command, she sets the time to a speed that makes his movements a blur. By speeding up the rate time flies for him, she’ll be able to see his progress much faster, because for her and the world outside, only seconds are ticking, but for him, _days are flying past._

 

As difficult as it may be to monitor him now, she’s glad to see that he _does_ indeed make progress. It seems that his goals overlapped hers, where she wanted time to deteriorate his lingering despair, he seems to want to do it himself by forcing himself to change his habits and stop the creepy ones.

 

She sighs in relief as she relays this information to Hajime, who will, in turn, provide the boy’s approximate time of awakening to Tsumiki.

 

She looks back at the boy, and sees that through the blur a small, genuine smile is settled upon his face, complementing well with his childish demeanour.

 

She slows down the time for Kokichi and takes note of how long he’s been kept in solidarity, recording it in the documents her AI’s been programmed to fill in. She continues to have her eyes on the boy, watching as the great dictator steadily shrunk into a normal teenager.

 

She removes the time difference between them and he’s back to moving normally- even though he’s not really moving. He’s just on the floor thinking, his eyes are closed with a neutral expression resting on his face. She slips into his thoughts and listens as he monologues about how dead he feels inside after his transformation, and slips out because that stuff isn’t useful when it comes to progress.

 

So she speeds up time again and slips in every now and then into his thoughts, listening as he reminisces his time with the other participants. Slowly, she feels the boy succumbing despair as regret and anxiety grips him in a choke hold.

 

And it’s then that she sees his hope, blooming ever so minuscule within his depths of despair. It’s then she knows that he’s worth saving, and slows down his time before watching him pop up from the floor, and run off.

 

Curiously, she trails after him, and it’s evident that he really has no destination in mind, and watches as he continues to run and run for however long his fragile body lets him. She decides then and there- _Kokichi Ouma is worthy of mercy._

 

And so she dispels her cloaked light, watching as he is momentarily blinded, before running towards her. A small smile graced her lips, and she spreads her arms out wide and welcomes the new flower of hope that grows within the boy’s heart.

 

_As he runs towards hope, his heart soars, free of despair as his greatest wish has been answered._

 

_“Welcome home Kokichi.”_


	4. Embracing Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes up.

The explosion of white momentarily blinded the former leader, but once he regained his bearings, he looked around and found the ever-growing light sweeping the shadows away. It was a welcome change, and he traced the light back to its source, ~~hoping~~ to find the presence of another.

He turns, and is caught off-guard when his eyes land on a girl’s figure. The girl’s pink eyes and thistle hair contrasted with her dark attire, giving the a girl a youthful glow. A small smile graced her lips as pride twinkled in her eyes. Her arms were outstretched, and for some reason he completely drawn to this mysterious girl.

He had no time to hesitate, and slipped quickly into her embrace. She linked her arms behind him, encasing him in her warmth. He settled his head into the stranger’s shoulder, and cried.

He had long yearned for such warmth, that he had forgotten what warmth was. His lack of warmth had caused him to substitute it with the emptiness that was constant around him, replacing his cold inside with the emptiness that he was surrounded with, his inner-self reflecting the empty abyss.

But now, as the world floods with light, all he can feel is hope and happiness.

The girl releases him from her embrace, and he latched onto her, desperate to not lose the only sense of companionship he has left.

She merely smiles and leans into his mess of hair, her hands holding the sides of his head.

 

_“Welcome home Kokichi.”_

 

And she lifts his stray hair and presses her lips to his forehead, rejoicing in the other’s rising warmth.

She forces his limbs off her, and with one last smile, she watches as her ward dissipates into light.

~~Into hope. His own hope he grew through his despaired heart.~~

She wipes her smile off her face, opting for her simpler ghostly smiles, and relays this information back to the system.

` Ouma Kokichi is awake.`

-=<0>=-

He wakes to a world of light.

His head spins irritatingly, and he raises his hand to steady himself and-

Eh?

His eyes flick to where his hand should be but finds it absent. He tries to move his head to see his hand better, but it doesn’t respond. His eyes look back up and finds the world in a blur. He narrows his eyes to focus his vision, and it takes a while for his eyes to get used to world’s features.

When the blurs clear up to form coherent shapes, he realises that there’s a doctor in front of him. His eyes look to his side, edging in on his blind spot, and finds strands of choppy dark hair- probably a nurse. He briefly registers the movement of the man’s mouth, forcing himself to focus on his lips.

He can’t hear anything the man is saying, a constant static buzzing in his ear. He focuses himself on reading the mam’s lips, trying to make sense of what’s being said. He can’t concentrate and finds himself frustrated at his inability to comprehend the other’s words. The doctor’s mouth continues to move and he realises that the man must be repeating his words.

He slips his eyes close and opts to ignore the doctor’s attempts at communication, and finds himself slowly succumbing to a dreamless sleep, before he was forced back awake by pressure applied on his cheek.

His eyes are shot open and he finds himself acquainted with familiar eyes dyed in the colour of gold, shining brightly with hope. He blinks and blinks again because he finds it hard to comprehend the reality that his _beloved Saihara-chan_ is in front of him.

He closes his eyes again and lulls himself to sleep, knowing that this was all a hallucination and that Shuichi wouldn’t care that much for him. He is interrupted once again as the pressure on his cheek moves softly across his cheekbone, caressing him in a manner that shouldn’t have disrupted him, yet, it did so.

He tries to open one eye but ends up opening both, staring at the golden eyes that peered deeply into his soul. He tried to make his discomfort known by shifting uncomfortably, but his body is numb and his control over it remains null. His distaste under Saihara’s observant eyes remain unseen, and he inwardly grits his teeth at it.

He continues to stare back into Saihara’s eyes, taking on the other’s gaze as a challenge, and narrowed his eyes in concentration. The golden gaze that peered so intensely softened, a relieved smile breaking Saihara’s usually calm mannerism, and he wrapped his arms around Kokichi. He can feel the other’s arms settled under his arms, his hands clenching deeply into the hospital gowns he’s dressed in, almost digging into his skin, but comfortingly so.

The presence of the other is as therapeutic as it can be, and Ouma revels in the warmth of the other’s arms that have him trapped in the present- the reality. The survivor has his face buried in his neck, and though his hearing remains void, he can guess that the boy is talking- perhaps muttering some incoherence under his breath.

Hypotheses cloud his mind as he tries to make sense of what Shuichi may be saying. His first guess was apologies. All he had to go off to were the dramas and animes, and most of the time when a character ended up in hospital, the protagonist would visit them out of guilt and sorrow, greeting them with a heart-wrenched smile before embracing the former coma-induced patient with apologies.

~~He inwardly laughs. No matter how much fate may have forgiven him, he is sure to never forget Saihara’s vexed expression as he glares at him murderously. Even if he hadn’t died then and there, he’s certain that he should have, with the intensity of the boy’s enraged eyes casted upon his insane figure.~~

Kokichi wants to grimace as the next hypothesis slips into his mind. His second guess was confessions. Not necessarily love confessions- but rather confessions of worry and gratitude. He toys with the idea that Saihara visited him out of pity that no one would come, and toys with another that dictated Saihara visit him to confront his truths and lies. He doesn’t try to imagine Saihara’s loving glance, because he knew for a fact that he was unworthy of the heart he stole.

~~He knew with the way dream Saihara looked at him, that he was revolted. If he couldn’t have dream Saihara, how could he ever have the real one?~~

So he bears with the pain as his heart is shattered by the hypotheses his brain presents. So, he stops thinking and cherishes this moment he shares with Saihara, his neck leaning in as best as possible with his frayed nerves, and he inhales Saihara’s presence like drug- slipping back to sleep within his beloved’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst because I'm hungry :P


	5. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let me share your burden._

Shuichi stares at the door in front of him.

Beyond that door lies the reason for his visits from the past year. At this point it’s a make it or break it moment, and he can’t comprehend that, _wow, this is really happening._

His heart swells with anxiety as hypothetical situations overcomes him within his mind, increasing anxiety’s grip on his heart. It gets to a point where he feels like throwing up, but he forces himself not to, and instead breathes out a breath.

And sucks it back in because he can do this. He’ll handle any hypothetical situation Ouma will throw at him, because he’s the _Ultimate Detective_ and he’s been prepared for all these things.

With bated breath, he swings the door open.

He enters the room, and is met with the sight of a nurse and a doctor surrounding Kokichi’s cot. The nurse leans into the cot, and Shuichi guesses that she’s there to support the patient. He walks in and hovers beside the doctor, hoping to get a brief synopsis on what’s happening.

The nurse sits Kokichi up, and Shuichi notices just how long his hair had grown. His hair is a dark shade that glosses in the blindingly bright hospital lights, the ring of light that usually sits on the crown of his head shining brightly with the overdue grease that accumulated over time. His hair sits behind his back, no longer pointed nor wild, but rather, straight and tame in a tangled way.

The doctor approaches Kokichi, and his plum eyes open for the first time since the Killing Game. The man talks to him, speaking audibly as he briefly explains his condition to the patient. The boy stares blankly at the doctor, before his eyes slowly slide close, his head nodding off to sleep.

The doctor steps away and nods to Shuichi, permitting him to handle the boy and provide him with much needed care and affection. He approaches the resting boy, taking note of his sunken cheeks that give way to the shadows pronouncing his cheekbones and defining the smooth curvature of his figure.

He slips his hand behind the boy’s back, allowing the nurse to slowly retract her arms and hurry about to carry out her duties. He rests his unoccupied hand along the smooth surface of Kokichi’s cheek.

Kokichi reacts instantaneously to his hand, his eyes shooting open as gold meets purple, the beautiful colours of royalty. Their brief contact causes a spark between them, and Kokichi blinks severals time to confirm reality.

Apparently their moment was too good to be true for Kokichi, as he breaks contact and slips back to sleep. Panicked, he moves his free hand, moving it gently across the sunken curvature of Kokichi’s cheek.

Kokichi’s eyelids twitch, and his eyes peeked from behind, eventually opening up once again to show his full sight. Their eyes lock for the second time that night, and once Shuichi is certain that the other boy won’t fall back to sleep, and gives him a solemn smile, wrapping his other arm behind the boy, enveloping him into the safety of his chest.

The doctors and nurse leaves the room, mentioning that they’ll check on them later, something Shuichi is grateful for. Kokichi remains deathly still in his arms, and he squeezes harder, hoping to elicit a reaction out of the boy- give him a sign that he’s really there. Despite the added pressure, the boy doesn’t move, his body as stiff as it can be even though he’s limp in his arms.

Shuichi inhales a shaky breath, realising that this must be the after-effects of the trauma his body went through (with how he was shot, poisoned, and eventually crushed).

They sit in the comfortable silence of the night, Shuichi sobbing into Kokichi’s shoulder, muttering lines of apologies- hoping that at least one of them will reach the boy’s ears. He squeezes Kokichi harder, fear having crawled through his throat and into his mind- _fear of losing the boy once again._

_~~Fear that he’ll lose the boy, with his last memory being him inflicting nothing but cruelty to the true saviour of the Killing Game.~~ _

He hopes, that by holding onto the boy he deemed as the most courageous of them all, that he’ll be able to bear the grunt of some of his burdens that weigh heavy on the boy’s small shoulders- hoping that he’ll be able to help Kokichi share in the pain that he submits himself to, for the sake of others.

They continue to relax in that position, Saihara’s grip on the other having loosened, just as Kokichi’s tenseness gave way to sleep. Shuichi partially retracted his arms and looked down at the boy who glowed in his grasp. His tears had dried up, leaving behind tear tracks as evidence, only to be washed away by the onload of tears that continue to stream down his cheeks as he observes the boy.

He gently lays Kokichi back down, satisfied to see his face relaxed rather than its usual neutral expression. He breathes a sigh of relief, releasing his bated breath he held since he arrived. He takes a seat in his chair and drags it silently to the side of Kokichi’s bed, taking the sleeping boy’s hand in his own, their fingers intertwining instinctively.

Shuichi smiles joyfully, pure happiness radiating from his face, and he folds his arms in front of him, laying his head in the makeshift nest of his arms and Kokichi’s cot, grasping tightly onto the boy’s hand, eager to not lose the boy to himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually don't know what the heck doctors do when coma kids wake up, I'd guess that there's more mess and rushing around, rather than this peaceful BS I wrote, so like, don't take my word for it.


End file.
